


La Petite Mort

by apostapal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Fall of Overwatch, mild body horror, sad old men stop trying to hurt each other and awkwardly flirt, suggestive banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapal
Summary: "a million daily deaths until you die"What he does isn't dying. But it's also not living. And it's definitely not living how he'd like to anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUonCU1bmAc)

_La Petite Mort._

The first time Widowmaker said this about the quickly healing hole in his chest, followed with a self-appreciative peel of laughter, the humor was lost on him.

“I took sign language in high school.” he said when she needled him about it.

“What good is sign language?” she asked, brow raised.

Reaper leaned against his elbow, raised his hand, and poked up his broken middle finger. “I can communicate points well enough.”

She just rolled her eyes and waved him off. “The little death.” she said, “Also slang for orgasms.” He looked at her a tick, brows pulled together, and she sighed and elaborated. “Writhing, gasping, then going slack. It's not a hard connection to make.”

He looked back down at his chest, reflective, and shrugged.

“The French must be terrible in bed. This doesn't feel anything like a good fuck.”

Widowmaker let out another laugh, clutching her chest, and nodded. “Yes, yes.” she said, “It's hardly similar, really.”

Something about it stuck with him, though. Perhaps it was the irony of it; _dying_ was about all that felt like living these days. Whatever the reason, it was on his mind for his next almost close call. Shame Amélie wasn't there for the humor of what happened next as he poked his finger into the dark hole in his gut and waited for it to fill.

“Does anything hurt you anymore?”

He knew the voice by heart. He knew it like he'd always known it. Like he'd known nothing else.

“Words still hurt, Jack.” he hummed, not looking up as the soldier stepped into his peripheral and settled his shoulder against the wall he'd slid down.

“Can you even die now?”

Reaper laughed faintly, glancing up at him and being rewarded with nothing but the red glow of his visor. “Only a little.” he said, “ _La petite mort._ ”

Jack laughed, something that seemed to almost startle him, and shook his head. “You would call it something crude like that.”

“Lacroix taught me.” Gabriel deadpanned back, eyes back on the nearly-healed wound in his gut. “I can't take any credit for the crudeness there. Almost makes this shit sound fun though, doesn't it?”

The soldier shrugged and slowly slid down the wall to sit next to him, arm braced awkwardly against the brick and one hand still on his rifle. Guarded. They had to be, didn't they? Who knew what they'd do to the other now? Who knew who they even were now?

“Never felt like dying to me.”

“Dying never feels like fucking either, trust me.”

Another chuckle, this one quieter and easier to predict, and they lapsed into silence for a moment. Gabriel shifted his feet, raising his knees, and patted at his stomach as the last bits of gut filled in and let off wisps of black smoke.

“You ever miss it?”

“Dying?” Reaper said blandly. “I don't have to, Jack.”

“The other one.”

“I loved you so much I would have let you kill me any day.” he said with a grin.

He couldn't see the soldier's face but he knew Jack. Knew his voice. So he knew the faint smile he had to have when he spoke again.

“Well, when you put it that way it sounds like this all happened on purpose.”

Looking back, it was a valid question. Still, Reaper waved him off.

“Doesn't matter. Now, you can't kill me even if you tried.”

Jack sighed, heaved himself to his feet, and hesitated a moment before sticking a hand out to him. Gabriel stared at it briefly before grabbing it and pulling himself up. It still felt as normal as it had when they were on the same side. Muscle memory, maybe.

“I'd never kill you, Gabe.”

“No little deaths? I do miss those, to answer your question.”

“I'd offer,” he said, shifting his weight and glancing down the alley behind Gabriel, “but I think, in order to die, both of us would need to be alive.”

“I'll work on that.” Reaper drawled as he stepped past him, hand settling briefly on his shoulder.

Dying to live was almost as bad as what Jack was up to anymore; living to die. Neither of them was much good at simply being alive these days. At least they were beyond trying to kill each other properly anymore.

 _Well,_ Reaper considered as he glanced backwards after Jack, _maybe a little one here and there wouldn't hurt._


End file.
